Regis couldn't tell if it was morning or evening in this damned country anymore, but he was hungry, and everyone else was asleep, and damn it all he might as well do it himself.

So he sat up and made breakfast. Got a fire going with a couple of sticks and rocks, smiling happily as the flames rose high in the makeshift pit. He nudged the embers with his poker till they were glowing hot before propping up the cooking pot on the tripod. Took a lot of snow to get enough water boiling, scooping scum off the top as it started to roil.

Say one thing for Regis, say he's a man of simple pleasures. He reached into his sack and pulled out a few handfuls of oats, a couple sticks of cinnamon, and a pinch of sugar he'd hidden away for times like this. Been a long time since he'd had a decent meal, and nothing beat the taste of good sugared porridge.

The oats took to the boiled water well, giving off a delicious nutty aroma intertwined with the deep richness of the spice. Regis took in a deep breath and puffed his cheeks out with delight. Nox had taught him how to make this back in Austerland.

He'd shown him how to strip the bark off the cinnamon tree, how to dry it, prepare it for cooking. He'd shown him a lot of things, like how to boil the sweetness out of beets, or how to squeeze the juice from a sugar cane, or how to cheat at cards.

Regis sighed, realized he'd been holding his breath. Thinking about Nox was the last thing he needed right now. There were more urgent matters to think about. Namely, what the seven hells he was even still doing here? Ever since he'd arrived in Danic on his stupid quest for vengeance, it had been one blunder after another.

Copperhaven was still a burned out hovel, his brother ruled the land with an iron fist, and his last loyal friend had now turned himself into a psychotic martyr, hellbent on catapulting the people into another bloody civil war.

Regis rubbed at his temples, feeling a familiar ache behind his eyes. "I hate magick. No offense to you Magus, but I'm really getting sick of tired of the stuff." No one said anything save for the mindless babble of the fire, not that he expected anyone to answer.

What in the seven hells was he still doing here?

The question came back to him like a slap in the face. He'd died a near handful of times trying to find his brother, and there was no telling how many more times he'd have to just to get there..

And then there was the Captain to think about. The ever looming presence biting at the backside of his mind. He hadn't seen him so far, but there'd been a moment back in Middlefort when the backs of his hands started to itch.

You don't live long enough as Regis had to ignore such premonitions. The Captain had been close, but the battle had likely separated them. Where he was now, it was difficult to say, but he doubted it was far.

And then there was the mess Regis was currently tangled up in. He remembered what Loken had said about Fenris. How he was destined to kill King Erik. The idea alone made his mouth taste sour. After his time with the Aulderman, he was sick and tired of prophecy.

But even still, Regis considered, it didn't make the Wyrd boy's words any less true. The sun had appeared over Middlefort, after all. Willed into existence by Olaf himself. Had he truly called up Aurora's divine will, or had the man been touched by the Goddess in some way?

Who can say.

The water was starting to boil over, so Regis kicked a few sticks out of the fire and stomped them down. The porridge settled, the oats looking nearly done. Just a little more time, and they would be perfect. Nothing tastes worse than undercooked porridge.

There was no way to completely trust Loken, Regis considered. The boy had a familiar innocence that reminded him greatly of Brand, but if you look past the lambskin tunic, you'd easily see the wolf beneath. He wore only a thin blue robe and nothing else, and yet his fingers and toes were never blue with cold or black with frostbite, his skin forever painted the color of morning snow. Even worse, you never could see his breath even in the most bitter of nights. As if his insides were made of solid ice.

It reminded him eerily of the Empress, and ill magick that possessed her.

Whatever plans Loken had involved with Fenris, Regis doubted it would end once King Erik was dead. Wyrdlings had a habit of gravitating towards those with power, acting as advisors, puppeteering them in the shadows.

Regis sighed. Nido's tits, but he was tired. One rash decision and he'd wound up in one big heap of trouble. He looked up to see his porridge close to ready, heard the crunching of footsteps near the cellar door of the ruined house. He puffed his cheeks and set his weary back straight.

The boys were up. Time to look professional.

Took them a bit to get up the creaky steps. Fenris was still weak from having half a spear ripped out of his guts, Loken propping him up under one arm as they shuffled carefully towards the fire.

"Sleep well?" Regis asked.

"No. Full of farking nightmares again," Fenris said.

"I'm not sleeping much these days," Loken said. "Let's put you down over there."

"I can sit down on my own."

"I'm sure you can, but let's not overdo it. It's going to get harder to heal you as time goes on. The first one was simple. This one is going to be more difficult. Don't expect the next time to be any easier."

"Enough preaching. Leave me alone." Fenris pushed Loken away and sat down, gritting his teeth as his body jolted from the impact. Looked like his insides were still a bit tender.

"I'm making breakfast," Regis said, trying his best not to smile. Couldn't help but see Libro and Civis in the two of them. Bickering like an old married couple.

"It smells delicious," Loken said. He drifted over to the cooking pot, his nose wrinkling with satisfaction. "I haven't had a good meal in so long, I've forgotten what it tastes like."

"A skinny boy like you needs to eat often, I reckon." Regis dipped his ladle in the pot and gave the porridge a stir. It was so close now, but with a little more patience it would be perfect. "How long has it been since you've had a decent meal?"

"Several years, I'd wager," Loken said.

Regis paused his stirring. Nido's tits but he hated magick. "We'll have to fix that then." He turned to Fenris still sulking by the fire. "What about you lad? Want a bowl? There's plenty to go around."

"I'm not hungry," the Forsworn mumbled, his frown deep enough to make a canyon jealous.

"You should try and eat anyway," Loken prodded. "You'll need your strength if we're to keep you on your path."

"There you go again with that path nonsense," Fenris snapped back. "What even is this path I'm supposed to be on anyway?"

Loken's brows furrowed. "You're angry."

"Damn right I'm angry. You've done nothing but lead me by the nose while feeding me nothing but cryptic prophecies and mystic babble. I'm honestly getting sick of it."

"Don't forget saving your life. I recall doing that as well."

"Oh thank the stars themselves for your brave act of heroism!" Fenris made a mock bow, regretting it instantly. "I should be so farking grateful!"

Regis continued to sir the porridge, his eyes flickering between the steaming pot and the bickering boys. Breakfast he'd counted on, but breakfast and entertainment he did not expect.

"Enough," Loken said. "There's no point discussing this any further. I will tell you what your path is when the time is right, but not now. If I speak out of manner, I fear all of Danic will be lost."

"There you go again! "Spouting nonsense like I'm just supposed to take your word for it! Well I'm not!" Fenris snarled as he jumped to his feet, knocking over the cooking pot and sending it tumbling over the side.

Regis gasped, made to snatch for it, but all he got was a singed hand as the burning hot breakfast plopped miserably to the ground.

"I'm sick of it!" Fenris spat. "Your last prophecy nearly got me killed and I'm not gonna let you wiggle your way out of it! I want answers! Now! What is my path? Where are you taking me? What is my purpose in this stupid farking scheme of yours?"

Fenris was huffing and puffing now, sweat trickling down his temples, breath coming out in great steamy vapors.

Regis sighed and scooped up what porridge he could save, which wasn't much mind you. A lot of ash had trickled in, a lot of dirt, but they used charcoal for medicine down in Byzantia, and a little dirt never hurt nobody, so he reckoned it was worth saving.

You have to enjoy the little things when you can.

There was a tear running down Loken's cheek, like he was watching something precious drift away, but then he sighed, wiped his eye, and set a grim look about him. "If that is your desire, then I will tell you, but I warn you that this will change things forever. The future of Danic may be irreparably harmed because of it."

"I don't care," Fenris said. "Tell me now."

"Your fate is to kill King Erik with the sword of old known as Night Breaker, once wielded by Galm the Ancient in the time of the Unification Wars," Loken said matter of factly.

His shoulders visibly slumped, as if a great weight had been taken off his shoulders.

Fenris didn't say anything, just sat there all quiet like for a while. "You're kidding me," he finally said, after the fire had nearly died low.

"I wish I was, but now the moment has passed. I've gone against the stars of fate, and now your future is uncertain."

"So all this time, you were guiding me along some prophetic quest to acquire an ancient sword and use me to kill the king? And you had to wait to tell me? Like it was some kind of farking punchline to a joke?"

"I had hoped for something more akin to storybook, to be honest," Loken wheedled.

Regis shoveled a spoonful of porridge into his mouth, the rich and spicy sweetness a most welcoming distraction from all the drama. Almost made him want to shed his own tears.

And then Fenris laughed. Long and loud and full of mockery. He laughed as he reached for his pack, laughed as he swung it over his shoulders, laughed as he turned and marched away from the fire, heading east.

Loken could only stand there, watching miserably as Fenris took off. He didn't look quite like the Empress then. Looked more like a scared, little man watching his best laid plan go right to shit. Maybe he was up to no good, maybe not, but whatever evil he may have planned, it couldn't be as terrible as the shit they were dealing with right now.

Besides, Regis could probably kill the Wyrdling if worse came to worse. Probably. He sighed and wiped his fingers before standing up, handing the half eaten porridge to Loken.

"Stay here. I'll go talk to him." And he trudged off, following after Fenris.

***